


Familiar Features

by 13atoms (2Atoms)



Category: The Great (TV 2020)
Genre: Angst, Dead MC, F/M, ow my heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:36:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27642223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2Atoms/pseuds/13atoms
Summary: After his wife's death, Orlo finds himself unable to face his own daughter.
Relationships: Count Orlo / Dead!Reader, Count Orlo / Reader
Kudos: 4





	Familiar Features

Orlo often caught himself staring at the face of his growing child, marvelling at the pace the girl grew up, how she seemed to change each day, now a squabbling toddler when it felt like mere days since she had been a tiny baby. 

The routine of finding slices of his day to devote to getting to know his offspring had come easily, naturally. He couldn’t bear to skip a second, the lightness which being near the young child would bring, the sheer parental joy he had craved for so long. And yet, that familiar wave of sudden sadness would hit him every time, stood in the doorframe as his daughter played with the nanny, and laughed a little too much like you. 

It could be anything - a sleeping smile, a shout of joy - just the sheer similarity the child had to her mother could suddenly devastate him.

She would never remember you, he had realised one evening. Your daughter would never remember the few months where she had entertained and exhausted two doting parents, been a bright symbol of love and _hope_. 

Orlo turned from the doorframe, hoping the nanny hadn’t seen him lurking. The woman was longsuffering enough, tolerating his frantic need to be nearby once moment, and miles from his own child the next. 

It wasn’t the child’s fault, but she looks so painfully like her mother, he couldn’t bear to be in the same room as her.

A nanny had been a necessity after your death, and yet Orlo had suddenly found himself more alone than since before he’d met you.

In a trance Orlo returned to his own apartment, a mere one door down the corridor from the nursery he had gleefully procured at the first signs his wife was pregnant. The walk often felt like the longest he ever took, as he finally allowed the door to click closed behind him. With a few deep breaths, Orlo cursed himself for being so unable to face his own offspring. He loved the child, and yet she was a reminder of the cosmic unfairness of it all. 

Nonetheless, he tried.

Unlike a lot of the fathers in the palace, he was truly invested in the child’s development, as much as it broke his heart to mark milestones without his wife by his side.

Retreating to his desk, Orlo took in the scribbled drawings which the nanny sometimes left out for him, spotting a new drawing delicately balanced atop his work.

This rough artwork was an important part of development, he knew, and he was careful to ensure each piece was carefully preserved. Orlo had learnt not to take anything for granted, to treasure each small joy he got. He wished he had preserved every note you had snuck him, he certainly refused to lose anything produced by the unstable, chubby hand of your daughter.

He smiled to himself as he regarded the new drawing.

Two figures stood side by side, one larger and one small, titled with a neatly written caption in the nanny’s hand: “My Family.”

Like a punch to the chest, Orlo’s heart suddenly ached, his lungs devoid of air as he took in the two distinct stick figures, the one which was clearly a self-portrait by his daughter, and the oversized, frowning figure which was apparently intended to be him. From the other room, he could hear his daughter babbling to the nanny, apparently refusing a bath, both voices distant and ignored.

Orlo slumped into his chair heavily, resting his head in his hands as he took in the drawing. His own quill sat innocently beside the papers on the tabletop, and Orlo found himself reaching for it without conscious thought.

Tears smudged the page as he drew you into the picture. The drawing was shaky and desperately inadequate, as Orlo covered his mouth to muffle his own sobs. 

For the first time, he threw his daughter’s artwork into the lit fire.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a personal favourite fic of mine, I love the idea of Orlo with kids. Apologies if it ripped your heart out 👿


End file.
